


Luxure à la mode

by circlesarecool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confused John, Confused Sherlock, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/M, Female Sherlock Holmes, Female Sherlock Holmes/Male John Watson, Gender or Sex Swap, Grapefruits, Lovesick sherlock, M/M, Multi, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent John Watson, Parent Sherlock, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Will be edited better later, some magic involved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9525641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circlesarecool/pseuds/circlesarecool
Summary: Sherlock really, really loves John. So much that he will do anything to have him as a boyfriend. He happens to have a lifetime supply of pills meant for those who are transgender.He starts a relationship with John with a fake female identity, and he finally thinks that he has what he wants.Except John is not really happy with Sherlock. He always feels wrong when he does anything romantic with her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope that this will turn into a nice multi chapter fic. I will be editing the chapters often, so hopefully it won't suck? 
> 
> Anyways you're more than welcome to give me constructive criticism, but ONLY constructive. Not destructive critism. 
> 
> I apologise for any OOCness, please tell me if you find it!
> 
> The first chapter is mostly just introducing the plot and setting up everything. It'll get interesting.

Hunched over a Tupperware bin was Sherlock. He was investigating the results of trapping a female mosquito with a fresh severed arm. To him, it was actually quite interesting. To his flatmate, however, it was a horrifying sight, and a good reason to question Sherlock's sanity.

John fumbled with the bags of groceries on his arms in an attempt to open the door to 221b. He cursed silently as one slid off and hit the floor. He bent over to pick it up, only for another bag to fall. He managed to pick up both bags, but his arms still could not bend enough to get the door.

John would have set down the groceries at the bottom of the stairs, if it weren't for the text he had received. 

In his mind, he could still picture the words. Carry up all of your groceries by yourself in one trip. You can not set any down to open the door. SH

He would have responded with something along the lines of "Errands aren't a bloody sport, Sherlock. JW", if he had not received another text quickly after the first. Please. SH

John loathed the idea of the challenge before him, but Sherlock actually using manners concerned him. For all he knew, he could have gotten himself tied to a chair, gun to his head, threatened to be murdered unless his flatmate did the strange task. 

Maybe it was just his insane imagination. Rosamund had recently learnt to scream when the telly was not playing a naïve children's show, thus forcing him to learn much more about how much children's shows' creators wanted children to use their imagination.

"Sherlock? Are you in there? Are you alright?" John asked, pressing his cheek to the door.

The only response he heard was the sound of another program that he hated. Perhaps Sherlock's captor wanted to create the illusion that he was just watching the telly with Rosie. Or he or she was just as mad as Moriarty was.

"One more try for a response before I kick the door down," he thought.

"Sherlock?"

John let himself sigh when he heard a distracted "hmm?" from a voice too low to be his daughter's. 

"Sherlock, are you alright?" he asked, holding his breath.

"Hmm, what? Oh, yes," Sherlock replied with absolutely no care.

"What's going on?" 

"An experiment." John realised that Sherlock yelled. He was in the kitchen.

"Is that why you texted me 'please'?" He was losing hope of his nagging about manners actually working on his friend.

Sherlock scooted his chair away from the kitchen table and sat up. 

John heard footsteps approaching him, before the door swung open, revealing a consulting detective with disheveled hair. 

"No," Sherlock snapped before closing the door. 

John scoffed. "Can I come in?"

The footsteps trudging away stopped. 

"Right."

Sherlock opened the door, letting John enter. He peeked outside of the door as his flatmate set the groceries down on the coffee table. He shut the door when he heard John's disgusted sigh.

"Sherlock, just– why?" John whined with his hand of his forehead.

Instead of acting offended, disappointed, or even apologetic, he merely bent down and pointed to the insect. 

"See the mosquito?" he explained cheerfully, as if John was a child, and they were at a zoo or an aquarium.

"Just– Who's bin is that?" 

Sherlock shrugged as he left the kitchen for the living room. He sat himself down next to his drowsy goddaughter and peered inside a bag.

He removed a jug of grapefruit juice and opened it. He sniffed the inside extremely passionately before closing it and placing it in the fridge. 

Sherlock continued to help John put away the groceries. John was so grateful for help that he did not even consider that the younger man might just want something from him.

The two sat down on the couch together. They began to watch the ghastly show.

Rosie interrupted their trance by crawling into Sherlock's lap. She continued crawling until she was sprawled over her father and godfather. 

When the infant had fallen asleep, Sherlock turned his head to look at John.

"Let's go to a pub," he whispered.

"What?" John whispered back.

"I told Mrs. Hudson that we'd be out tonight. We must go."

"Why? Why did you tell her that?"

"You... you look stressed."

"Do I now?" John whisper-yelled. 

Rather than answering with the truth and angering John further, he stayed silent and stood up, holding Rosie. Two seconds later, Mrs. Hudson walked in. She made her way over and grabbed her goddaughter. 

Sherlock grabbed John's arm and pulled him up. He darted out of the flat with him, dragging him down the stairs. 

"Sherlock! What are you doing?" 

"I saw a taxi. We can get to the pub faster if we get that cab," he explained as he hailed the cab. 

When they got in, John put on his I-know-you-are-up-to-something-Sherlock-you-little-bastard face. 

"John. I am aware that you are suspicious, and I would like to let you know that I am attempting to be a good friend and help you when you are stressed," he lied.

"How am I stressed?!" John screamed.

"You have maintained a career as a doctor, taken care of Rosie, run errands, and dealt with emotional trauma. I am sure that you are in need of this," Sherlock rambled. 

Sherlock thought it was polite of John to let him alert the cabbie of their destination before exploding.

"Sherlock! Just! Tell! Me! What! Is! Going! On!" 

"John, I have already told you. We are going to a pub. You do remember what a pub is, right?" Sherlock faked an innocent smile.

John rolled his eyes, but decided that it was rather nice of Sherlock to help him have a break.

He cleared his throat. "Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Thank you. I needed this."

"You are very welcome." Sherlock turned and smirked at his window. Things were going as planned. For him, at least.

\-----

When they arrived at the pub, Sherlock remembered how much he disliked places like such. It was noisy, crowded, and smelled like vomit. He desperately wanted to go back home, where it was mostly quiet, filled with some of the people he cared most about, and of course, where it smelled like John. The only thing keeping him from stomping out of the dreadful place was that he had a job to do. He considered it as his own personal case.

John led his friend to the counter. They found a few empty stools and sat down together. 

As they, or rather just John, waited for the bartender to make her way over, Sherlock slowly spun himself around, observing the other people there. There were some females, just as he had hoped. 

John noticed that Sherlock was facing backwards and spun around to face the same direction. He licked his lips before speaking.

"What're you doing?" 

Sherlock did not respond. He expected John to 'check out' someone if he stayed silent. John stared at him for a moment before directing his gaze towards the rest of the place, as Sherlock wanted. 

Wherever John would look, Sherlock would follow his gaze. First, John looked at the aquarium in the corner. He seemed to be following a red fire dwarf gourami. 

After two minutes of staring at the fish, they were interrupted by the bartender. 

"What can I get you two?" she asked. She had a false sounding caring tone. 

"Um, I'll have, uh... shots?" John ordered. He appeared to want to get drunk. Perhaps he really was stressed. 

"And you?" She gestured to Sherlock. 

"I would like 225ml of water at 85° Celsius, mixed with Camellia sinensis leaves and—"

"We're sharing the shots," John interrupted. 

Sherlock groaned in response. He could not risk being forced to drink. He had work to be done, and that could not be done if he was not sober. 

When the bartender left, John turned to Sherlock again.

"Who the hell orders tea at a pub?" he joked. 

Sherlock decided to stay silent again. This earned a groan from John.

He spun around again, in hopes that John would do the same again. He did not, however. He instead waited for his drinks and looked at the other people sitting on the stools.

Sherlock wanted to spin around to stare at whatever John was looking at, but he feared that John would catch on and figure out what he was doing.

He spun around multiple times in an attempt to make John think that he was just messing around. That unfortunately gave off the wrong impression, thus creeping out John.

"What. Are you doing?" he inquired.

"What does it look like I'm doing," Sherlock retorted as if what he was doing was the most obvious hing in the world.

"Something, strange?" John tried.

Sherlock set his foot down to stop himself. "Close enough." He smiled. John responded with a smile that Sherlock loved. One where his eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes crinkled. 

Sherlock continued to follow John's blue eyes around the pub. First, he looked at a woman three seats to the left of Sherlock. She had brown hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a purple dress that was a size too big. 

Next, he looked at a woman who was standing to the right of the empty stool next to John. She had blue eyes and yellow-blonde hair. She was wearing tight but casual clothes. 

When their drinks arrived, John averted his eyes to focus on a shot glass. As John gulped down, the blonde woman walked away, and Sherlock looked back to the brown-eyed woman. He noted that she had a habit of chewing on her fingernails, and she had recently painted her fingernails purple. He also noticed that she must be right-handed, as her left hand's fingernails were neater than the right. 

Sherlock's train of thought stopped when he noticed that John was looking at the woman as well. He had a different expression on his face this time, however. It appeared to be a mixture of confusion and hurt. Sherlock turned his head to look at John. 

John looked back at him with a weak smile before chugging another shot. He did not look at anyone specifically after that. He continued drinking shots.

"I'm going to the loo," Sherlock told John as he got up. He tipsily nodded in acknowledgment.

He stood outside of the stalls, hiding in the corner. He pulled out his phone a called Mycroft.

"I need some money," he stated.

"Might I ask why?" Mycroft responded.

"I need a new phone. Now."

"Do you not have your own money, brother mine?"

"John cannot know of my purchases. I also need some more products, mostly cosmetics."

There was a pause. After a moment, he heard Mycroft chuckle.

"Alright. I shall give you the required amount if you come over."

"Alright. John probably won't notice. He's purposely drunk." Sherlock turned of the phone and snuck out of the pub. 

\-----

"I need a hair straightener, coloured contacts, makeup, and clothes," Sherlock demanded. 

Mycroft held back a smirk and dug through his wallet. He handed his brother a wad of cash before pushing him away with his umbrella. 

"Why are you giving me the money?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

"I, support what you are doing," Mycroft drawled as he crossed his legs. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak. He felt strong arms wrap around his torso. He knew it was useless to try to free himself, so he went limp as the arms took him to a store.

\-----

When John had fallen asleep on the couch with Rosie, Sherlock went to his room and locked the door. He looked inside of his shopping bags that were resting on his bed. 

He emptied all the bags into a briefcase which also contained a years supply of pills. After he locked and shoved the briefcase under his bed, he left and went to the kitchen. 

Sherlock glanced at John before opening the fridge and removing the jug of milk that resided in there. He went to the bathroom and began pouring the dairy down the sink. 

When all of the necessary tasks were completed, Sherlock smiled. His plan was playing out well already. 

\-----

John's shouting jostled Sherlock from his mind palace. 

"Where is the milk, Sherlock?!" 

"Shouldn't it be in the fridge?" Sherlock called back whilst twisting himself up in his sheets.

"I checked the fridge. Why is the milk jug empty already? I bought it yesterday!" 

Sherlock left his room and looked in the kitchen. He glanced at the empty milk jug and turned around to sit on the couch. 

"Dunno. Maybe Rosie stole it," he suggested jokingly. John was too angry to take the joke.

"Rosie is only a year old!"

"I was joking. I honestly don't know where the milk went."

John growled and grabbed his coat. 

"I'm going to buy some more. I also forgot to get your medicine from the pharmacy."

"I don't want the medication. Get some oatmeal, too, for Rosie. She likes grapefruit flavouring." 

"No, you need it. I don't know if I'll find grapefruit oatmeal." John left before Sherlock could continue arguing.

Once the cab that John got in left, Sherlock headed to the bathroom. He brought his briefcase in.

After a cup had been filled with water, Sherlock grabbed a sheet of pills. He punched out a pill's foil, then brought the pink drug to his mouth.

Sherlock placed it on his tongue. He drenched the pill with water, tilted his head back, and swallowed. 

As soon as the pill had left his oesophagus, he began to unbutton his shirt. He discarded the article and wriggled out of his trousers. 

He felt his figure change. His hips were becoming more defined.

Sherlock began to straighten his hair. Without its natural curly state, it looked slightly like a bob. He hoped that it would be attractive.

He grabbed a cloth from a drawer and dampened it. He wiped off his changing face. As he gently scrubbed with a cleanser, he felt a sharp pain just above his thighs. 

Sherlock checked the area, his face still soapy. He was definitely changing quickly. 

He rinsed the soap off and dried his face with a towel. 

Sherlock applied makeup until the pains stopped, then looked in the mirror.

The pill had worked. 

Sherlock ran her hands over her feminine body. She had a hunch that the pills were fake, however she was proven wrong. 

Once she had finished her disguise, Sherlock darted out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if the image of Sherlock with a bob gives you nightmares.


End file.
